The Cult of "Cargo"

They came from the sky.

In World War II, American servicemen were waging war in the Pacific. They needed a place to launch their attacks on Japan, and since Japan had already conquered most of the nations in the Pacific, they had to go to some of the the smallest island nations as launching points.

One of these nations was Tanna. When they landed, they brought the First World emenities - Coca Cola, radios, airplanes, as cargo.

And they recruited the islanders to help them build airstrips, landing areas, and others. This was something they hadn't experienced before.

This wasn't the first time they had seen white men on Tanna. Missionaries had come to Tanna, but they hadn't brought all these powerful jet engines, these wonderful consumerist products.

And when the Americans left, a cult started. It was the cult of John Frum. No one knows where "Frum" came from, other than soldiers saying that the stuff came FROM somewhere, or soldiers introduced themselves as John from Cinncinati, or something.

So know, every year, those villagers put up landing towers in the hopes that those planes from the sky will return with Coca-Colas and tvs. Because they think this will bring it back.

So maybe it's the corruption of consumerism, or how consumerism is in everyone. I don't know.

Just remember, just looking up and hoping won't bring down the cargo from above. Some miracles you have to make yourself.

The Satan Squad, Or, A Good Afternoon Movie

Here's an old story, but a goodie.

Basically, Italy wants to set up a Satan squad. They'd take down really tough Satanists who want to start shit.

They'd have guns, a tough chick, a rookie, a grizzled veteran whose partner or family member or loved one or some other person he kind of liked was killed by a Satanist, a skeptic guy, and finally a chief who just wants results.

Now, it's time for a "Great Sentence In A News Story" break:

[Heavy metal guitar solo]

"They indulge in a lethal blend of black magic, hard drugs, sex and heavy metal."

[Wicked awesome face-melting heavy metal guitar solo]

Here's the story.

By the way, because I'm cool, I was in the comic book store, and I heard some kid playing dungeons and dragons or some variant in a twenty-year-old kid in a trenchcoat, and he was winning or did something good. So then, he said a new word phrase I kind of liked - nasty powerful. Really, nasty is the new really. It was nasty good.

The James Bond Jew

Syria, the early 60s. Kamel Amin Tsa'abet, a friend of many high-ranking Syrian generals, tours the fortifications of the Golan Heights. The heights contained mortars and military bunkers Syria used to fire into Upper Galilee, at Jewish settlements. While a Syrian army officer explained the fortifications. Tsa'abet suggested planting eucalyptus trees to deceive the Israelis into thinking it was unfortified. In addition, these trees would provide shade and beauty to the soldiers. The Syrians agreed.

1967, the Six Day War between Syria, Egypt and Jordan vs. Israel. Israeli bombers target and destroy all the fortifications.

Because this guy wasn't Kamel Amin Tsa'abet, but Eli Cohen, a guy who left accounting for spying.

He was James Bond. Rich, handsome, 17 lovers, trusted by the Prime Minister of Syria - only he didn't go back to Israel to drink martinis, he got hanged.

Here's how badass (and I don't mean cool, I mean badass, as in, holy shit that's cold) he got info on the Syrian airforce pilots. Then when the Six Day war happened, he told them that if they bombed Syria, he'd bomb their families. They dropped bombs nowhere, then said they did it.

So that's him, the James Bond Jew.

Science Sucks

Scientists know about gravity. But they don't know about why it happens. You think they'd figure out why things fall down, but they're still working on it.

It took them twenty years to figure out why shower curtains billow towards you when you're taking a shower. Basically, the shower creates a little vortex when you shower, and the eye of the vortex brings the curtain towards it. And it took people 20 years to figure this out.

So yeah, science is a mystery to man. But shower curtains and things falling are to.

This is a brief post because I was busy cheating on you with your sister.

I Am A Master of Bartitsu And None Can Destroy Me

Victorian England gave us sexual repression, some overly long novels, and imperialism, but it also gave me the means to kick your ass if I gots my walking cane on me.

This is Bartitsu, the martial art invented by E.W. Barton-Wright in 1898 after spending years building railroads in Japan. He named it after himself because dammit, if you're gonna invent a martial art, you have got to name it after yourself. Like Shaq-Fu. Or The Many Fists of Tony Danza.

It utilized his walking stick. This can also be called a pimp cane.

The next section was stolen from the website Bartitsu.org

His favourite tactic was to employ the "guard by distance" in which the defender held the stick poised over his head, tip pointed straight towards the opponent's face, while the defender's left hand was raised to the front both as a shield and as a target. This was a position of invitation, tempting the unwary opponent into an attack to the defender's apparently exposed left hand; subtle variations included invitations to attack the head or the torso. As the opponent attacked, Vigny would swing his lead foot back, removing himself as a target and simultaneously delivering a crushing counter-attack with the heavy silver ball to the opponent's weapon-hand or head.

Psyche him out, then hit him with your pimp cane.

Just so you know, I stole a time machine from Stephen Hawking after I punched him out of his stupid chair, learned Bartitsu from Barton Wright himself, beat his ass with a sack full of doorknobs when he was sleeping, then left after I made a bet all my money on who would win the 1900 Presidential Election (McKinley) then went home with my money. When Stephen Hawking and his posse The Black Hole Boyz (all black gay astrophysicists) tried to rob me, I whipped out my big stick and broke their motherfucking knees with it. Then I bought my first walking stick, so I could practice Bartitsu.

Here's some pictures in case you can't read. I stole them from Bartitsu.org.

What People Do For Fun

I play video games for fun. Some people take up a hobby. And some others decide to run in the fucking desert for 150 miles.

This is the Marathon of the Sands, in Morocco. They carry supplies on their back for 150 miles. Because this is something to do.

You have to pay 5 grand in order to do it. Which is stupid. Just walk 150 miles from one town to the next in the desert, and try not to die. There, I've saved you 5 grand.

The only reason I could see is that it could get you chicks, because they know you can go all night in the Moroccan desert, you can go all night in the bedroom. Although if you're spending all your time in the desert, the little fireman's gotta be chapped as hell. While I don't have firsthand experience of that organ, I'm guessing there's a reason they make dildos out of latex rather than sandpaper.

It will probably get you chicks, but there's easier ways. You can learn to play the guitar instead of nearly dying in the desert of dehydration. In fact, do it once, just to prove how tough you are, then never do it again. Say, Yeah, I ran the Marathon of the Sands. Just do it.

Funny story:

"In 1994, Mauro Prosperi, a police officer from Rome, got lost in a sandstorm and wandered several hundred kilometres off course.

He managed to live for the next nine days on a diet of boiled urine and dead bats. He lost over 13kg (30lbs) during his ordeal but returned to Morocco to race twice more."

TWICE MORE!

TWICE MORE!

TWICE MORE!

Here's the story I stole it from.

Finally, a quote from Lawrence of Arabia, 1962:
"No Arab loves the desert. We love water and green trees. There is nothing in the desert and no man needs nothing."